Center Of Attention

The restaurant at the Empire Hotel on W 63rd St. just across from Lincoln Center opened its doors to journalists and hangers on Tuesday. Center Cut is all done up in dark woods, rich browns and gold lamé. Regional wine director for the China Grill Group, David Carreon, has put together a pretty decent wine list of organic, biodynamic and sustainable choices. I begged David to let our table forego the house choice being served and he obliged with a bottle of Chateau De Coulaine Chinon Bonaventure, which was full of mineral and dark fruit with layers that just kept peeling away as the night went on to reveal new nuances and insights into the terroir. The meat was great. I had the opportunity to sample several cuts, including the marbled prime rib and kobe. To start my friends and I shared a simple foie gras, ultra-rich sable in creamy sauce, so-so stuffed mushrooms, smoky grilled bacon, and hearty steak tartare. But what killed us all (except for Pam, who doesn't eat wheat) was the beyond-brioche bread, heavy chunks of buttery goodness like Pillsbury crescent rolls on steroids. It could have been dessert. Which was ironic because the dessert was surprisingly weak: the meal ended with a bewildering ritual of marinated cherries flambéed at your table, then served in cream with pistachios. No matter. The restaurant gave out goodie bags at the door (Halloween came early!) filled with bulky white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies to take home. The bag weighed about 10 pounds, which is about how much weight I put on in that one night.

Chill Out

They say you should drink red wine at room temperature. And it's exactly that old saying that has led to most of us drinking red wine way too warm. You see, the old "room temperature" adage harkens back to the times of drafty castles and damp, cool huts - and doesn't refer to our modern centrally-heated houses. Red wine should be imbibed at about 50 degrees F, lighter ones at maybe 45. Now you can instantly cool your wine using the RAVI Wine Chiller (made in my hometown of Montreal, baby). It also works on white wine that hasn't been chilled sufficiently. Simply keep your wine chiller in the freezer, place it over the mouth of and bottle when needed, and pour. It immediately drops the temperature of the liquid some 7 degrees. How freakin' civilized is that.

Welcome To Miami

For nearly five years now, Florida has been the second biggest wine market in America next to California. Sorry New Yorkers. A recent visit for the Miami International Wine Fair showed, unsurprisingly, a deep appreciation for the wines of Latin countries, including Spain, Brazil and Argentina. And, while the fair attracted some of Miami's less educated (a more surgically-enhanced) wine drinkers, it was obvious that the city itself no longer had its wine training wheels on. To wit: Cavas Wine Tasting Room in South Beach. Using the Enomatic system, it dispenses one-ounce tasting portions that can be purchased with a prepaid debit card. Two standout offerings included the ultra-mineral 2007 Chehalem pinot gris from Willamette Valley and Burgundian-style 2006 Topel Reserve pinot noir from Monterey County. And here I thought the best thing to drink in Miami was a mojito.

Oh, Baby

One of the more inventive tapas bars in Madrid is Los Gatos on Calle de Jesus in Santa Ana. Try the (fake) baby eels on bread at this kitschy tiled bar filled with knickknacks and curios (my friend, Chandni, sat at a barber's chair to eat). It fills up on an evening so go early or stop in on an afternoon.

Cerveza Me

With so much vino tinto and sangria available everywhere, who would have thought that Madrilenos were so beer happy? Anyone who stepped into Naturbier might have gotten a clue. (And after a week of drinking Albarino, the sight of it made me want to weep.) This brewpub right in the centro (just steps from where I stayed, the Alicia, in Santa Ana) serves up dos tasty beers: a refreshing cloudy lager and a darker and maltier Viennese-style beer. Both are made of organic ingredients and brewed onsite so patrons can sip a beer within sniffing distance of the big copper fermenting vats. Just around the corner, a second brewpub called Magister offer the same two styles (which are called rubia or blond and tostada or toasted), as well as a caramalizada, which is a sort of stout, and a double bock, a strong Belgian-style beer. The beers are served in the most adorable mini mugs so that you can get away with ordering just a glass and still feel like a giant knocking back his mead.

Sunday Best

Who knew that instead of wasting our time brunching, we should have been spending our Sunday afternoons downing glasses of vermouth and sherry? A long-lived tradition in Madrid is to spend the Sabbath doing just that. On a recent trip, I was taken first to La Venecia in Santa Ana, the epitome of an old-man bar, complete with a grunting, laconic bartender and no-photos policy. The customers included, of course, old men - in suspenders and porkpie hats, no less - as well as the odd hipster looking grungy enough to pass muster. The bar doesn't accept tips, nor does its staff seem to tolerate much enthusiasm over the vermouth and sherry served from exposed barrels. When asked about producers, an annoyed "I don't know" was the response. I had a lovely dry fino, while my friend, Mateo, enjoyed an oloroso, as we both ogled the cured meats hanging from the back bar. At El 7 De La Cava in La Latina, a hip little box that could have been in Nolita, the vermouth was on tap, and the tapas were exceptional. We opted for a plate of rosemary-dusted manchego and three glasses of pure romance.

Meat Me in Basque Country

With all the seafood in Galicia, the local meats were often overlooked. The steak was delicious, as were the many cured meats served. My favorite by far was the lomo, a cured pork tenderloin. Deliciously salty and tangy, it is made from the meat of the exalted Iberian pig, which is raised on a diet of acorns and wild grass. Lomo is often brined before being left to air dry - in citrus peel, peppercorns, garlic, bay leaf and paprika, which is one of the main spices used in the region. The result is a deep, lusty color that does not belie the flavor and texture of the glorious pig flesh used to make it.

See Food

Nearly everyone I traveled with to Galicia suffered food poisoning. The dreaded 36-hour oyster was to blame. Luckily, having a gut of steel (thanks, in part, to a mother who experimented on her children in the most culinarily cruel ways), I was able to wolf down everything served... including the barnacles, a local specialty. These picture-perfect coquilles St-Jacques were the reward. Take that, weak-stomached travel companions.

Green Hot Chili Peppers

The most fun game to play in Galicia, in Northern Spain, is unsurprisingly with one's food. Particularly, the find-a-hot-one game with the local pimenton de Padron. These beautiful slightly hot green peppers are traditionally fried and salted and served as tapas. I found myself able to polish off an entire plate to myself, however, much to the dismay of my fellow diners. Every once in awhile, if you're lucky, one of the little suckers will burn your face off. The rest of the time, they gently tease you with equal parts heat, sweetness and saltiness. So, even if you don't find a really hot one, you still win.

Giddy Up

It might look like just a gimmick: a bar on the LES with a mechanical bull. A magnet for displaced Southerners and fratty types looking to dare each other to saddle up. But Mason Dixon on Essex Street, for all its barny kitsch, has a pretty mean top shelf bourbon list, including Woodford Reserve Master’s Collection, Old Fitzgerald’s 1849, Eagle Rare, and Old Forester Signature. Treat yourself to a good bourbon and a beer and you'll get a free ride on the bull. At $10 a pop for a ride, it's a pretty good deal, y'all!

Perbacco, Reinvented

Okay, so I'm not one to follow Frank Bruni religiously. In fact, I tend to find him something of a blowhard, although I do like it when he puts some of New York's older institutions in their place. But when he suggested returning to Perbacco on E4th Street, I had to comply. Not only because his review was as close to raving as he gets, but because the place has long been a favorite in the neighborhood and I was curious about how the new chef had reinvented it. My friend, Loren, and I shared the prosciutto and melon ravioli in a marscapone and mint sauce, a creamy and guiltily pleasurable take on prosciutto e melone. We also had the baked zucchini and caprese, the latter is also non-traditional: made with tomato gelee and mozzarella cubes. Having just come from yoga class, we decided to order wine by the glass and were so pleasantly surprised by a dark and minerally Montepulciano that we shamelessly uttered the English translation of Perbacco: Wow!

Late and Great

I recently sat down to dinner with two good friends and one of their husbands, who, a trained chef, made us a wonderful dinner of perfectly roasted beef and several simple salads. A practicing carpenter, he did so in his modest yet functional kitchen, complete with fabulous cabinets and counters, crafted from his own deft hands. The meal was easy and satisfying, punctuated by special little touches (tiny flowers in the greens, kumquats amid the beans), but was pulled together by the careful selection of three gorgeous wines. The first was Lopez de Heredia "Vina Gravonia," a beautiful amber liquid, nutty and funky, redolent of flowers and honey. The second (courtesy of yours truly) was the 2007 Domaine Gramenon Sierra du Sud, a 100% syrah, spicy and seemingly coated in walnut oil. The last was the Macon-Cruzille red from our favorite Burgundians, Alain & Julien Guillot. At one point, during the enthusiastic conversation about wine and love and life, someone asked the rest to guess the time. My guess was midnight. It was nearly three.